Not For Better
by Shotzette
Summary: The 70's are an adjustment for Squiggy...


"Not for Better"

By Shotzette

Rated PG

This is only a work of fan fiction and is not intended to infringe upon anyone's copyrights or intellectual properties

"_There are places I remember  
All my life, though some have changed,  
Some forever, not for better,  
Some have gone and some remain."_

_Lennon & McCartney 1965_

The wind hitting his face was colder than the air in the bus station had been, but no fresher. Andrew Squiggman pulled his cheap, polyester, sport coat tighter against his slight frame and wished for the hundredth time that he hadn't sold his leather jacket at a swap meet in the valley three years ago. Then again, he reasoned as he glanced down at the Silver Star on his lapel, he was the kind of guy who did anything for a friend.

He loitered in the vestibule of the station as he surmised the crowds wandering aimlessly on the sidewalk. It was still light out; still business hours. A safe time. _Not that anytime was truly safe anymore. _ He self-consciously touched the scar above his eyebrow, a souvenir from his last mugging. He'd only realized in the last year that two guys on the street were less appealing targets than one was, especially if the second guy was a big guy.

Hating himself for his newly discovered caution, he wandered out onto the busy Milwaukee street. It had been seven years since he'd been home, and his town had changed. There was an unfamiliar griminess to the city, and the people. It wasn't quite as bad as L.A, but it sure didn't look like the neighborhood that he'd left years before. The graffiti was larger, and ten times more vulgar than anything that he and Lenny would have painted ages ago. Once thriving shops had been shut down, a few had exteriors and doors still marred by scorch marks from the MLK riots years before.

It was the people who frightened him the most. No one made eye contact, and they all scurried around like they didn't want to be there. He known from reading the papers—okay, from Rhonda occasionally reading the papers to him—that Shotz had gone under, and that both Budweiser and Pabst had laid hundreds of workers off. The ripples in the auto industry and corruption charges had hurt the AFL-CIO, and had been a horrible blow to organized labor everywhere. There no longer was any security for the working Joe, he mused, and once again he thanked his lucky stars that he'd left this jerkwater town when he did.

_Not that everyone had agreed with his decision…_

Squiggy shook away the troubling thought and pushed forward as always. The lawyer's office was five blocks away, but his appointment wasn't for several hours. That gave him time to find a hotel room, or the Y, and, he realized as he was distracted by the loud grumbling under his garish paisley shirt—get some food in his gut.

His feet had memories of their own and he found himself in a few short minutes three blocks from the bus station. He grinned as he looked up at the dilapidated neon sign; the second "z" in "Pizza" was burned out, but the "Bowl" shown like a beacon in the darkness. He closed his eyes as he stepped inside and prepared himself to be borne away on nostalgia with the scent of fresh crust baking, marinara brewing, and the sounds of the Big Bopper crooning on the jukebox.

Two out of three weren't bad. The place smelled the same, but the food aromas now competed with the stench of tobacco, stale beer, and patchouli. Janis Joplin begged someone to take another piece of her heart from the jukebox speakers, and as he opened his eyes, Squiggy understood why.

The Pizza Bowl was half empty. A swarthy man stood at the counter and gestured absently at him to find his own seat as he focused on the racing form in his hands. A few people sat in groups at the tables, but most were alone, nursing their beers with their eyes glued to the television that was now affixed behind the counter as the cathode rays from the picture tube drained their faces of what little life remained.

He was turning on his heel to leave, when he saw her. At a lone table in the corner she sat, perfect posture as always, with her turned up nose in a book. His feet were walking towards her before his brain gave them permission. He stood motionless in front of her for several long seconds before she glanced up at him.

"Squiggy?"

"None other than." He waited for the hug, for her to fling herself into his arms and declare that she wanted to have his babies, like he always knew she would one day. He settled for a quick squeeze of his hand and a brief smile, before sliding into the chair opposite hers.

Her blue eyes looked him up and down. "How long has it been?"

_Been since what? Since she broke your heart? Since she walked out of your life on a mummy's arm? Since she forgot you existed?_ "Long enough."

"You look…well, you look like you."

"Don't I know it. So, where's your doctor hubby, Shirl?" he asked as he looked over his shoulder, an overly practiced maneuver, "out in the kitchen performing an achovyectomy?"

Her smile tightened and grew brittle. "Walter's overseas, Squiggy."

Squiggy nodded in understanding. "And you're here because you had a craving for pepperoni? Is there another bum in the oven? "

"Walter and I are trying to work some things out," Shirley said as she stared at the glass container of Parmesan that may have been on the premises since before they all headed to California, "Billy and I are staying Milwaukee for a while."

"Ah, so you up and had the spawn already?" _She's someone's mother now, can't think stuff about her like that no more…_

The brittleness left her face and her smile took on a warmth that still took his breath away. "Billy's four now. He just started nursery school last month."

"So you're here for good, right?" He hoped that she didn't pick up on the pleading tone in his voice. _You can always cash your return ticket back to Burbank…_

"For now," she evaded. "My, my, my. Forgive my manners, but what brings you back to Milwaukee, Squiggy?"

"You're forgiven," he said as he picked an invisible piece of lint off his suit jacket, "I had some business to attend to."

"Show biz Squignowski business?"

He couldn't tell if her tone is wistful or mocking; this one always kept him guessing. "It ain't Squignowski anymore; just Squigman Inc."

She blinked and her cheeks colored slightly, making her look more like the perky little bottle capper that had stolen his heart a decade earlier. "I'm sorry. I should have known."

"Don't worry about it." Janice's song was over, and no one else had ponied up another nickel—dime for a replacement, so his words were louder and sharper than he had meant them to be.

"I didn't find out until…after," Shirley said as she reached toward him, only to pull her hand back before actual contact was made. "Laverne called me in tears after the funeral. I swear I would have flown back if I'd known. You know that don't you?"

Squiggy shrugged and tried to push the memories of that awful day behind him and glanced down at the Silver Star on his lapel that rubbed his nose in evidence to the contrary. "I didn't have a lot of warning. The Army ships people"—he swallowed heavily before continuing—"back home when they want to, not when you want them to." _While they're still alive…_

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

"Over and done. So," he said, as he tried to change the subject and ignore Lenny's goofy face as it danced before his eyes and threatened to push him to the brink of tears once again, "I got a telegram two weeks ago. My Dad finally shuffled off this mortal buffalo, and he left me a couple of acres of swamp land near Peewaukee."

"Squiggy, that's awful."

He shrugged as he helped himself to a sip from her water glass. "Me too. I would have preferred a few acres of downtown Milwaukee, but what can you do?"

Shirley shook her eyes and reached out to him, touching him this time. "Squiggy, I mean that I'm sorry that your father passed away."

"As far as I'm concerned, he's been dead for years." _I only cry for the ones I really miss_. "Anywho, I don't need nothing of his—except for the stunning good looks which I have had since the cradle. I'm meeting with the lawyer later to get everything signed over to Squendolyn. After I make sure that it's not worth nothing, of course."

"Of course…"

"So," he said in an effort to go back to the old, easy banter that he used to enjoy with this girl—woman, "I ain't kept up with Laverne much since she and Stan moved to Pasadena. What's the word, Flip the Bird?"

"She left him." Shirley's voice was flat and final.

"I didn't know… What did he do? Does she need someone to bust him up good? I mean, if she loaned me the cash, I could probably find a guy to do it…"

"I don't know. Laverne won't talk about it. I got a Christmas card that she sent me last July…"

"Don't she know Christmas is in early January?"

"Walter and I were moving a lot back then," she said as her eyes flickered away from his momentarily, "and our mail was being forwarded from one posting to the next. Anyhow, the card didn't mention Stan, but it mentioned her new boyfriend Carl who was a blackjack dealer in Reno and that she's a cocktail waitress. I haven't heard anything from her in months."

Squiggy rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Your back in the Untied States now, why don't you call her?"

Once again, Shirley's gaze was focused on the bottled cheese product. "I don't know. I've got a lot on my plate now."

"No, just pizza crusts from what I see."

"I'm working, I have Billy…"

"Yeah," he snorted, "and Laverne's only your best friend…"

"I'll call her when I'm ready," she said in a voice that was all edge. "I haven't been in town long and I'm still settling in."

"So, what are you doing these days? Hanging out with all the other Angry Debs and having tea? Shopping with Rosie Greenbaum? Hey, is she still fat?"

She shook her head and explained, "Squiggy, I'm working now."

"But, you're married…" _You were supposed to go off with Doctor Walter and live happily ever after in a big house and not have to work no more. I could have given you a life like this…_

"And in need of cash. Apartments don't grow on trees, you know."

"Tarzan's does."

"I'm working part time as a file clerk at Milwaukee General. It's mainly afternoons and every other Saturday, but if they like me, they may let me go to full time." Shirley coughed slightly before adding. "Rosie helped me get the job. I'm very grateful that she got Ogden to put in a good word for me in Personnel."

"What do you need to work there for? You already found yourself a doctor."

"Squiggy, I told you that Walter is overseas…"

"So you're stepping out on him?" He waited for the slap, or a good old-fashioned yank on his hairworm. Shirley just fixed him with an angry glare from the other side of the table.

"Squiggy! Be quiet!" She glanced around furtively, as if praying she didn't see anyone that she knew.

"Big deal! Ain't no one paying attention to us!" _It ain't like you're jumping out of a cake again_. "Is the food still good here?"

She shrugged. "It's okay. It's not as good as it used to be."

"So, let's complain. Garcon," he said with an impatient snap of his fingers.

"Shhh! Squiggy!"

"What? Didn't Mr. DeFazio sell it to his cousin or something? What am I talking about? They probably let us eat free here since we're old family friends and…"

"Yes, the guy at the counter is one of Laverne's cousins. I think."

"You think? You don't know? Shirley, all these years and you don't know how to mooch a meal?"

"Squiggy. Don't. I just come here to eat some times, that's all. I don't want to talk to anyone in here, okay."

He blinked in surprise at her vehemence and then acquiesced. "Okay, Shirley"

She took a deep breath and seemed to regain her composure. "So, how's business," she asked in a polite, Sunday school tone of voice that would have made her mother proud.

Squiggy smiled at her. "It's good, Shirl, real good. I'm handling a lot of talent these days, a lot of talent."

"Anyone I've heard of?"

"You remember Rhonda from next-door, right?"

"Besides Rhonda."

"Besides Rhonda… Well, I was still working with old Junko the Clown—you remember him, right?"

"Vaguely."

"He ain't with me no more. "

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I would have gotten him on the Tonight Show. Eventually. So big deal, Williams Morris did it in a month…"

Shirley suppressed a small groan. "How's Rhonda?"

"She is working her still pretty little tail off. Have you seen "Women Behind Bars"? It's still playing at most drive-ins in the Midwest. She's the lead prison matron, the one in the wet shirt during the shower scene."

"I haven't gotten around to seeing that one yet…"

"What are you waiting for? Your ticket is Rhonda's residuals and my ten percent. They are also planning a Women Behind Bars II, did I mention that?"

"No, you didn't. I seems like things are working out for you, Squiggy."

"Yes, they are, yes, they are. And to think, everyone looked down their noses at me and Len when we used to hang out at the women's penitentiary…" The ragging sound of your sob stops you in mid sentence.

Her hand clutched his arm. "I'm sorry."

"I don't want to talk about it." He looked around the room and for the first time that day, he was glad that he was in a room full of strangers. It didn't hurt so bad when this happened to him in California and only Rhonda was there to care.

"Maybe you need to." Her tone was gentle.

"Talking won't bring Lenny back, Shirl. It just makes me feel worse."

"He was your best friend. No one expects you to not miss him." Now she sounded like the know-it-all-prissy girl that he used to chase after in high school, despite how annoying she could be.

"I don't wanna talk about it, woman!"

"Then don't."

The finality of her words chilled him. His jaw dropped and he looked at her, really looked at her hard. There was a coldness to her, this was not the same person who would sing endless choruses of "High Hopes" to cheer up a friend, or be ready with a pep talk at the drop of a hat. This Shirley was a stranger.

"It's getting late," she said as she pretended to glance at the clock on the wall. "I have to get home to Billy."

He nodded, still too stunned to speak and watched her shrug into her plaid coat.

She glanced down at the remaining slice on her plate. "You can have the rest of my pizza if you want it. I can't bring home the leftovers; Billy's allergic to onions. By the way," she added, "you might not want to stick around here too long. The neighborhood has changed a lot. It's really not safe to be out alone after dark."

He watched her leave, her head high as always, but now affixed to a spine of steel. Despite himself, Andrew Squiggman shivered.

FIN


End file.
